


Come Home

by goodwolf_badmoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 00:24:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodwolf_badmoon/pseuds/goodwolf_badmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lying Low at Lupin's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Home

His eyes are grey and wild, and that's the only way I'm sure that the creature that stands before me is Sirius Black.  
"Remus". His voice stumbles over the syllables of my name- his voice is rusty from lack of use, and cracks the word in half.  
We stand and stare at each other for a minute or so until I snap out of it and remember my manners.  
"Merlin, what am I thinking? Come in."  
The door bangs behind him, and suddenly I'm very aware that particular door now separates the two of us from the outside world.  
Suddenly Sirius is very, very real.

"You look awful, Moony."

I'm not ready for the sound of him saying that name.

"So do you, Padfoot."

The old nicknames; we remember.  
Of course we do.  
The truth of it is written in every line on our faces.  
We have missed, and been missed. We have loved and we have hated- not always independently of each other.  
What now? Are we like any other couple now set in the past tense?

We are staring at each other- there's no shame or pretence.  
He breaks the silence.

"Fucking hell, I've missed you."

And then we're much closer, and everything moves more slowly.  
We are young again and we are clumsy.  
And we kiss.

Just once.  
Just once and everything comes flooding back.  
Thirteen years of pain and loss and trying to cope and not doing a particularly good job of it.

We have a lot to talk about.  
I tell him this.

He smiles. In that moment, he looks like the Sirius of old.  
It makes my heart ache.  
"We have time." He says.

\- 

And we find ourselves sipping fire whiskey and talking, and it's late. Our voices are quiet and the only other sound in my small sitting room is the crackle of the fire. Our shadows are enormous, looming huge on the wall behind us.  
We sit together on my faded green couch, close enough to smell the whiskey on each others' breath. Close enough to touch, but not touching.

Until.

Sirius reaches out and brushes his fingertips across my cheek. His touch is hesitant, and he is shaking slightly.  
"I think-"  
He isn't looking at me any more. He's studying the carpet.  
"I'm afraid that place broke me, Remus."

I'm afraid it did too.  
I don't trust myself to say anything, so I don't. Instead, I put my arms around him. He is thin and cold, and I worry that I'll crush him.  
For a moment he doesn't move, but slow hands begin to creep across my back, skittish as sparrows.

"I've been numb for so long."  
His voice is barely a whisper.

My heart-beat thunders in my ears. I hold him close and then we're kissing again. His lips are slow, and dry and everything melts around me. My fingers tangle in the inky blackness of his hair.  
The kiss ends and he rests his head against my shoulder.

"Whatever you need, Sirius. Whatever you need, just tell me."

After thirteen years without him, he is back in my life.  
As good as back from the dead.

For so many years, I hated him with an anger I never knew I was capable of. It burned white-hot in my chest day and night for so long that I thought I would live with it forever.  
I had been betrayed, or so I believed, with such cruel and careless abandon that it made me sick to my stomach.

I had been betrayed- we all had. But it had been Peter- who'd have thought him capable? Little Peter Pettigrew, constantly running to catch up- always a step behind. Not this time though.  
And he got away with it too.

But now the truth is out.

Sirius is not a traitor.  
Sirius is in my arms.

My head spins. Partly from the fire whiskey. Mostly from the smell of his skin, his hair. His very proximity. His breath on my neck.  
In the space of hours, I have fallen very much in love again.

-

As the fire begins to die, I run my hand lazily across Sirius's arm. The small room is warm and dark, the firewhiskey has settled in my belly with a heavy glow, and my eyes are beginning to ease themselves shut. I'm comfortable and slightly drunk.  
"Come to bed."

He freezes.  
"Are you sure? I can sleep here if you'd prefer."  
His voice is tight and small, and it barely sounds like Sirius.

The thought hits me.  
Who am I kidding? It's been thirteen years- how do I know what Sirius sounds like? We're practically strangers. I knew Sirius, perhaps better than I knew myself once, but that was so long ago now.

I can't expect everything to be like it was.  
The thought is bitter and icy and cuts through the warm, comfortable haze in my head.

Suddenly I feel foolish, inviting him into my bed, the first night we're alone together.  
My cheeks burn with a furious blush.

"Oh Merlin, I'm sorry, Sirius. Please don't think I'm trying to take advantage of you. Sleep wherever you're comfortable. Um. I can find you a blanket…"  
It all comes out in a clumsy flood.

Sirius is smiling. Even here, in my gloomy little sitting room, on the run from both the muggle government and the Ministry of Magic and looking half-mad, his smile makes my knees weak.  
"No, your bed's fine."

He follows me to my bedroom, and stands in the doorway watching while I turn down the bed.

It's cold away from the fire, and we shed our clothes and slip into bed.

"Nox."

It is silent and dark.  
We are both holding our breath.

Fingers, tentative and unseen in the darkness, (the darkness somehow makes it easier) creep out and find hands and arms and shoulders.  
My breath hisses out like candlelight and I hold him, there in my bed with its worn sheets and creaking frame.

We exist suspended between the past and future. The world is on the brink of another war, when we're still finding our feet after the last.  
We are both broken men- our best years, perhaps, behind us, and our love lost in time.


End file.
